Twilight Hours
by Flaming Trails
Summary: A prequel to World of Darkness. Doc 1985A's thoughts on October 27th.


Twilight Hours

By Flaming Trails

A BTTF: Night and Day Story

_Notes: Written in response to the May backtothefanfic LiveJournal challenge. This was written completely on the fly, so no injokes or anything like that. Although I have seen rainstorms like the kind described here (and yes, it was raining at one point during the 1985-A scenes -- when Marty and Doc were in Doc's garage.)_

Sunday, October 27th, 1985-A

Hill Valley

1:03 A.M.

Dr. Emmett Lathrop Brown, better known as "Lunatic Brown," "Crazy Old Dr. Brown," and memorably, "Dr. Brown, F$king nutcase," didn't know why he was awake.

He stared at the ceiling of his white cell, listening to the sudden rainstorm that had moved in over Hill Valley. It was one of those rains that swept in suddenly, deluged the town for an hour or so, then disappeared without a trace. He had witnessed quite a few of them while he was growing up. He had always found them fascinating to watch -- and when he was younger, fascinating to play in too. Maybe the sound of the rain was keeping him awake.

No, that couldn't be it. He'd slept through hundreds of rainstorms before this one. No, it was something else. Some -- strange gut feeling that was keeping him awake. A feeling that something very important was happening out in the outside world. Something that would have an effect on the space-time continuum itself.

Doc snorted. Yeah, right. He was probably just being affected by the fumes from one of Biff's toxic waste processing plants. There was no way anyone out there could affect the space-time continuum anymore. Not with the inventor of the time machine trapped in an insane asylum, and his assistant sent away to boarding school in some foreign country.

He rolled over and tried to get to sleep. The straitjacket was, as usual, a smidgen too tight to be truly comfortable. He didn't care. He was practically used to it by now. After all, it had been a smidgen too tight for the last two years.

Two years. It was really incredible, if you thought about it. Two years of being locked in this cell almost all day, every day. Two years of having medications forced down his throat by the attendants. Two years of being told by his psychiatrist that he was crazy and that he was probably going to end up in hell. Two years of being trapped in this detestable mental institution, with nothing to do except stare at the walls and wonder how bad life was outside them. Doc was amazed that he had somehow managed to keep his sanity under these conditions. _It's probably because I don't want to give these bastards the satisfaction of being proved right,_ he thought dully.

Bored, he glanced out his barred window at the rain. He wondered who was out there tonight, shivering and wet because they had no place to go. Hell Valley, as Doc often thought of it, suffered from a severe homeless problem. As more and more neighborhoods were snatched up by Biff to expand his factories, thousands of people were thrown into the street, often without a penny to their names. It made Doc sick to think about it. All those people. . .all those children. . . .

He sighed loudly and rolled over again. It was best not to think about it. It was all moot in the end, anyway. With him in here, unable to build the time machine that Biff was certain to steal, the space-time continuum would eventually collapse, destroying everyone and everything in a matter of moments. At least this hell would be ended for them all. Doc chuckled evilly as he thought of Biff being crushed by the collapsing continuum. _It would be such a fitting punishment for that asshole._

The rain began to come down harder, splashing against the bars and the unbreakable glass. Doc wondered what all the pollution in the air had done to the precipitation in Hill Valley. He still remembered waking up one morning in December of 1982 and seeing coal-black snow on the ground. Most probably the rain was some sort of nasty acid rain -- perhaps even poisonous to humans. _I pity anyone who's out in this rainstorm. Then again, I'd rather take my chances with the rain than be trapped in here._ He glared around at the walls of his cell. _Great Scott, I hate it here. I'd rather be dead than live one more minute in this infernal place. If only I could get my hands on something sharp. . . . But no, they don't even trust their patients with a butter knife. Damn it._

He heard the night guard pass by his door, tapping his nightstick on the wall. Doc decided to try and count the number of taps, on the off chance that it would help lull him to sleep. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirt--_

"Hey Bill."

"Oh, hi Andrew," said Bill, sounding surprised. "I didn't know you were still here."

"I've got a ton of paperwork. I won't be in your way." There was a brief pause. "Did you hear the news? The kid's back."

"Kid?"

"Biff's kid, the one overseas. Marcel, I think his name is."

Doc sat up bolt straight. _He's back? Marty's back?_

"How do you know?"

"I'm friends with Harold Needles -- you know, Match? He told me Marcel showed up at the Pleasure Paradise, gawking like he'd never seen it before. The kid was acting really weird, according to him. He was acting like he'd stepped onto some foreign planet."

"Well, he _has_ been in Switzerland for the past few years, right? Maybe he's forgotten what Hill Valley's like."

"Can't be it -- the kid always comes home for Christmas. Match says they probably just hit him too hard or something. They're not gonna worry about it. Biff really could give a shit about the kid."

Doc began to tremble, filled with emotion. _He's back! Marty's back! Great Scott, if only I could see him. If only I could rescue him from Biff's clutches. Damn you, Biff, damn you! It's almost as if you made it your personal mission in life to see me in pain! If only I could get out of here! Then maybe I could find Marty and -- and somehow convince him that we need to be friends and that we need to finish my time machine! But that'll never happen. I'll never get out of here, except in a body bag or a casket. There's no way I can get to him. No way. . . ._

"Biff doesn't give a shit about anybody but himself."

"Yeah, I know. I sure hope that Marcel gets himself back to Switzerland, fast. Or back to that other planet he was apparently living on," Andrew snickered. "See you later, Bill."

"Bye Andrew." Doc listened to them walk away from each other, their footsteps fading into the distance. _He's right. The only way Marty will ever be anywhere near happy is if he stays out of Hill Valley. Run, Marty. Run as fast and as far away from here as possible. Save yourself._

With that, Doc lay down, and finally cried himself to sleep.

The End


End file.
